Story Because of Tender Religions

If I could touch
the long jade hollow
heart whose
prehensile hern
takes the shadow
neatly in arm
and down to the river
of solace singing charms

o
our sky-jowled hearts
like duck's eggs enthroned
in arm and arm rivers
neatly the shadow

the jade shadow
of hollow prehensile solace
the soft slow neck
in its arc

the cup, the cup
that came like hoof-prints
like leaves

If I could touch the sad old mirth
of the arm in arm velvet ringworms
that mine your skull for gold
if I could take the heavy liquid fire
right out these cinnabar bones
where fading feathered spiders take up pipas
in their rosettes of redundant balconies

If I had three external
and prehensile hearts
you could warm your face
in my throbbing

and I would raise the cup
the sad old mirth
of jade ringworm wine